Gregory Halston indicated the trays of emeralds. “We have some fine emeralds here that—”
“She wanted something for approximately a hundred thousand dollars.”
This time the smile that lit Gregory Halston’s face was genuine. What a nice way to start the day.
“You see, it’s my birthday, and old P.J. wants me to buy myself somethin’ pretty.”
“Indeed,” Halston said. “Would you follow me, please?”
“You little rascal, what you got in mind?” The blonde giggled.
Halston and Chilton exchanged a pained look. Bloody Americans!
Halston led the woman to a locked door and opened it with a key. They entered a small, brightly lit room, and Halston carefully locked the door behind them.
“This is where we keep our merchandise for our valued customers,” he said.
In the center of the room was a showcase filled with a stunning array of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, flashing their bright colors.
“Well, this is more like it. Old P.J.’d go crazy in here.”
“Does Madame see something she likes?
“Well, let’s jest see what we got here.” She walked over to the jewelry case containing emeralds. “Let me look at that there bunch.”
Halston extracted another small key from his pocket, unlocked the case, lifted out a tray of emeralds, and placed it on top of the table. There were ten emeralds in the velvet case. Halston watched as the woman picked up the largest of them, an exquisite pin in a platinum setting.
“As old P.J. would say, ‘This here one’s got my name writ on it.’”
“Madame has excellent taste. This is a ten-carat grass-green Colombian. It’s flawless and—”
“Emeralds ain’t never flawless.”
Halston was taken aback for an instant. “Madame is correct, of course. What I meant was—” For the first time he noticed that the woman’s eyes were as green as the stone she twisted in her hands, turning it around, studying its facets.
“We have a wider selection if—”
“No sweat, sweetie. I’ll take this here one.”
The sale had taken fewer than three minutes.
“Splendid,” Halston said. Then he added delicately, “In dollars it comes to one hundred thousand. How will Madame be paying?”
“Don’t you worry, Ralston, old sport, I have a dollar account at a bank here in London. I’ll write out a little ole personal check. Then P.J. can jest pay me back.”
“Excellent. I’ll have the stone cleaned for you and delivered to your hotel.”
The stone did not need cleaning, but Halston had no intention of letting it out of his possession until her check had cleared, for too many jewelers he knew had been bilked by clever swindlers. Halston prided himself on the fact that he had never been cheated out of one pound.
“Where shall I have the emerald delivered?”
“We got ourselves the Oliver Messel Suite at the Dorch.”
Halston made a note. “The Dorchester.”
“I call it the Oliver Messy Suite,” she laughed. “Lots of people don’t like the hotel anymore because it’s full of A-rabs, but old P.J. does a lot of business with them. ‘Oil is its own country,’ he always says. P.J. Benecke’s one smart fella.”
“I’m sure he is,” Halston replied dutifully.
He watched as she tore out a check and began writing. He noted that it was a Barclays Bank check. Good. He had a friend there who would verify the Beneckes’ account.
He picked up the check. “I’ll have the emerald delivered to you personally tomorrow morning.”
“Old P.J.’s gonna love it,” she beamed.
“I am sure he will,” Halston said politely.
He walked her to the front door.
“Ralston—”
He almost corrected her, then decided against it. Why bother? He was never going to lay eyes on her again, thank God! “Yes, madame?”
“You gotta come up and have tea with us some afternoon You’ll love old P.J.”
“I am sure I would. Unfortunately, I work afternoons.”
“Too bad.”
He watched as his customer walked out to the curb. A white Daimler slithered up, and a chauffeur got out and opened the door for her. The blonde turned to give Halston the thumbs-up sign as she drove off.
When Halston returned to his office, he immediately picked up the telephone and called his friend at Barclays. “Peter, dear, I have a check here for a hundred thousand dollars drawn on the account of a Mrs. Mary Lou Benecke. Is it good?”